


Cruelty Is Easy

by Kalael



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Contract Killer AU, Implied E. Aster Bunnymund/Jack Frost, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pitch is all of Aster’s anger and none of his kindness.  Pitch is broken bones and gunshots in the dark, the flash of the shot illuminating a harsh grinning face.  He doesn’t feign gentleness or ask permission, he takes what he wants and leaves devastation behind him.  There is no soft thing in his body, he is petrified to stone and harder than anything Jack has ever known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cruelty Is Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Another old fic I decided to post. It's not really cleaned up haha

It's not like it was with Aster. Aster was kind in his own way, gentle even as he bruised. He asked permission before he did the damage, and he was always contemplative in the aftermath. He didn’t have a good heart, none of them do, but Aster was not as cruel as many of them turn out to be.

 

Pitch is all of Aster’s anger and none of his kindness. Pitch is broken bones and gunshots in the dark, the flash of the shot illuminating a harsh grinning face. He doesn’t feign gentleness or ask permission, he takes what he wants and leaves devastation behind him. There is no soft thing in his body, he is petrified to stone and harder than anything Jack has ever known.

 

He does not hold cruelty in high regard but he envies the way Pitch can remove himself from the world. He admires the way that Pitch doesn’t care, Pitch’s ambition, Pitch’s perfect poise as he raises the gun and shoots the target in the head.

 

Jack never did like the sound of shattering skulls. It’s wet, and the mess left behind is pulpy and sharp. Luckily for them there’s no worry about clean-up for this job, so Jack steps over the motionless body of the target and adjusts the collar of his shirt. He can still taste the bourbon on his tongue, sweeter than the whiskey that Pitch likes to drink. He doesn’t like either of them, not the smell or the way it burns his palate. He knows there is a bottle of red wine waiting in the hotel so he doesn’t say anything, instead focusing on the blood spattering his cheek.

 

“I know you have better aim than that.” Jack complains, and Pitch just snorts with amusement.

 

“You were too close, you saw me coming and you still didn’t move away. Though I commend your poker face. You look good with some red.” He raises a hand as though he intends to wipe the blood away, but he just smears it over Jack’s face. Jack turns away before it touches his lips, scowling with disgust.

 

“I don’t share your kinks, Pitch. Don’t put someone else’s dirty blood near my mouth.” He rubs it away with his sleeve, not caring if it stains the shirt. It’s not something he paid for and he’ll need to burn the evidence later anyway.

 

“You would look good with lipstick.” Pitch says absently as he begins to dismantle his gun. “You had better change. We have to move. I would give it ten minutes before security realizes that the cameras are on loop.”

 

“Which you likely did on purpose. The jobs would be so much easier if you weren’t such an adrenaline junkie.”

 

“You’re the last person who can talk about that. Now change, before I strip you myself.” Pitch gives Jack a pointed look, one that says he will if Jack pushes him to it. For a moment he’s tempted to do it, just to see what Pitch does when Jack defies an order, but he has no doubt in his mind that Pitch would sooner shoot him in the head than risk getting caught.

 

“Gross.” Jack mutters instead, and he begins to change into the black clothes that Pitch had thrown his way. He shoves the old clothes into the bag the new ones had come in and he slings it over his shoulder. “Alright, let’s go.”

 

It’s one of the easiest getaways they’ve had in a long time. For such a high profile target the security was pretty lax, and the location makes everything that much more simple. Jack is faster at scaling buildings than Pitch is and he bounds across several rooftops in the time it takes Pitch to cross one. Jack slides through the unlocked window of the motel room they rented, knowing that no one will see or think much of him in this sort of place. It’s not the nicest room they’ve stayed in but it’s far from the worst, and at least there’s the bottle of wine on the bathroom counter.

 

Jack is pouring his first glass of the night when Pitch slips through the window, a sour expression on his face as he throws the bag with his gun onto the bed.

 

“What crawled up your ass? Adrenaline wear off already?” Jack asks. Pitch turns to stare at him, giving him a look that Jack has never been able to fully interpret. It makes his skin crawl. He’s seen Pitch do terrible things to their targets, when the situation had called for it. Pitch’s unwavering gaze makes Jack wonder if he’s thinking about doing the same things to him.

 

“You are very good bait. Shockingly good. If I didn’t know better I would say that you make an excellent victim.” Pitch says abruptly. In the beginning this sort of thing would have unnerved Jack, but now it just annoys him.

 

“You think you’re so funny.” Jack rolls his eyes and goes to sit on the other bed, grateful that there’s even a second bed at all.

 

“Don’t get drunk. We have to leave in the morning for our flight, and I don’t want to deal with your subsequent hangover.” Pitch grouses. He finishes taking apart his gun, cleaning every piece of it thoroughly, and Jack doesn’t think about the invisible layers of blood. His skin is stained the same way as the pistol.

 

"You insult my tolerance for booze." Jack mutters. His wine catches the light and for a moment it looks too dark, too thick, and the smell is cloying. Jack drinks anyway, and when it’s gone he sets it on the side table. Pitch had paused in cleaning his gun to watch him, and Jack isn’t blind to the way that Pitch eyes his lips.

 

"No, I'm insulting your ability to handle a little pain." Pitch baits, and Jack might have accepted the challenge if it were any other man. Pitch and pain are two things Jack knows better than to underestimate. Instead he lounges on the bed and plays with the fraying duvet.

 

"Harsh, man." He says, feigning a wounded expression. Pitch’s mouth curls into the slightest of smirks.

 

"Maybe if you didn't complain so much about even the slightest bit of discomfort..."

 

"Did it occur to you that I might just do it to piss you off?" Jack counters. Pitch’s expression doesn’t change, and Jack knows the man is amused.

 

"Which is not wise." Pitch tells him. Jack shrugs one shoulder.

 

"Well you haven't killed me yet, so I must be doing something right." He leans against the headboard and he knows that he’s cornering himself there, knows that at any moment he could push it too far. Pitch’s fingers twitch.

 

"You're more useful alive. And if you were dead, I wouldn't be able to do this."

 

Jack knows what's happening before Pitch even raises a hand, but even then he isn't quick enough to dodge the fingers that wrap around his throat. They squeeze just hard enough to keep Jack in place and then Pitch is kissing him, teeth scraping over his lower lip and sucking hard.

 

Jack turns his head and laughs, a gravelly sound that doesn't match his childish features.

 

"You would definitely be able to do that if I were dead, I wouldn't put it past you. You like the fight, don't even pretend it's just about the sex." Pitch says nothing, which Jack easily takes as acquiescence, and then they are kissing again.

 

It’s not like it was with Aster. There is nothing apologetic in the way that Pitch draws blood and leaves bruises. There is no kindness in the hand that wraps around his dick, tugging sharply and drawing out a pained cry. They won’t talk about it in the morning. They never discuss it, they simply move on to the next target. But it’s the only way Jack can tell what’s constant. In the end, this won’t change. Pitch will not change. He is cold and dark and precise.

 

It’s like a fucking gunshot to the head every time, and Jack wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
